


The Right Thing is Rarely Easiest

by pquilly



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Fíli Freaks Out: The Musical, Fíli and Kíli Brotherly Love, Gen, I wrote this like 2 years ago with every intention to make it like 50 chapters long but yknow, Life Gets In The Way - freeform, Marriage, Marriage of Convenience, Not Beta Read, One Shot, because I am lazy, but background marriage, more setting than anything else, non-romantic Fíli/Sigrid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 09:40:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10806543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pquilly/pseuds/pquilly
Summary: For Kíli, marriage had never really been on the cards. He’d always assumed that he and Fíli would end up like Nori: roguishly handsome bachelors with quick fingers and quicker wit, exploring well past the borders of the most far-reaching maps, and changing the world one lucky lass at a time. He’d never in his wildest imaginings thought that they would see the day their homeland was reclaimed, or that they would be part of the company to reclaim it. But they did, and they were. And now they were princes.And Fíli was to be married.If he could be found, that is.





	The Right Thing is Rarely Easiest

For Kíli, marriage had never really been on the cards. He’d always assumed that he and Fíli and end up like Nori: roguishly handsome bachelors with quick fingers and quicker wit, exploring well past the borders of the most far-reaching maps, and changing the world one lucky lass at a time. He’d never in his wildest imaginings thought that they would see the day their homeland was reclaimed, or that they would be part of the company to reclaim it. But they did, and they were. And now they were princes.

And Fíli was to be married.

If he could be found, that is.

After being under the rule of a fire breathing, not exactly hygienically inclined dragon for the better half of a century, the Lonely Mountain upon its reclamation was not what it had once been. The first few weeks of returning to their mountain home had included more excavating and less drinking than Kíli had imagined, and by the time they’d cleared the entrance chamber, Kíli was so revolting that the company quickly learnt to give him a wide berth lest they wanted to join him. This was mostly due to the fact that the youngest of the company— which exclusively included Ori, Fíli and him —were given the duty of cleaning up the... messier evidence of Dragon habitation.

The celebration chamber seemed to be where Smaug had focused the worst of his frustrations (thinking, “celebrate this!” every time he’d dropped one, probably) and Kíli could recall many ‘fond’ memories of shovelling away rotting piles of dragon shit with Fíli and Ori, and occasionally dodging dung balls.

Nowadays the celebration chamber was kept in a considerably better state, especially of late since it was where the fabled ‘Wedding of the Century’ (coined by Kíli himself) would take place.  
With only a few hours until the ceremony began, tensions were high. After an unfortunate incident involving a trolley of cakes and Kíli’s left boot, he was forbidden from any further ‘helping’, but that didn’t stop him from admiring the handiwork of his kin.

The ceilings were high, unbelievably high, and from them hung glittering chandeliers, dripping with crystals and resembling frosted spider webs. Imbedded into the very walls of the chamber were chips of jewels and precious metals. They shone brilliantly in the torch light, throwing fragments of rainbow light from floor to shadowed ceiling. It was truly a sight to behold. Kíli would have liked to turn to Fíli in that moment and make a snide comment about the flower arrangements, but his brother was nowhere to be found. Uncle Thorin had sent out a search party consisting of their mother, Dwalin and Nori, but so far their efforts to find him were fruitless. It seemed as if the groom had simply vanished off the face of the earth.

“Kíli.”

Kíli jerked to attention, dragging himself from the comforting, familiar coldness of the stone floor as his uncle approached, looking very much the image of a Dwarven King returned to his throne, and in Kíli’s opinion, exceedingly sharp.

He was dressed richly in colours of blue, grey, black, and the subtle hints of red that Bilbo had been able to coerce him into. His crown— depicting a swooping raven —glared down at Kíli from its perch atop his head. “Where’s your brother?” Thorin questioned, the urgency of the situation making his voice harsh and blunt.

“I haven’t seen him,” Kíli replied. He thought they would’ve hunted Fíli down by now… maybe this was more serious than he’d first thought…

“No one has it seems,” Thorin grumbled, glancing around the chamber with distaste. The near ridiculous amount of flowers spotted around the chamber had not been Uncle Thorin’s idea, but a certain Hand to the King had insisted that they were completely necessary, and had had way too much fun dropping them in the most obscure places where he knew Thorin would eventually find them. Kíli suspected that the moment the ceremony concluded those flowers would ‘mysteriously’ find their way to the furnace. “This is not a day to be playing childish games.” He continued. “I expected much more from Fíli. I always thought he was the more level-headed of the two of you, but after this stunt I’m thinking of changing my stance.”

“Thank you Uncle,” Kíli deadpanned. “It’s good to know you’ve always had faith in me.”

Thorin chose to ignore the comment, or was perhaps too caught up in his flower hatred to hear him. Either way, he went on to say: “Bard of Laketo—” He caught himself, sighed and started again. “Bard of Dale will be here any moment with Sigrid, and I would rather have Fíli close by when they arrive. As a show of good faith in the union.” He continued to glare around the chamber as he spoke, his eyes scanning the room for a blond head in the crowd, no doubt. “I don’t wish to be made a fool of in my own home. Find him before the ceremony begins. I believe you might have better luck at finding him than the others.”

Kíli puffed out his chest proudly at the statement, only distantly aware of how odd he must look. “Don’t you worry Uncle, I’ll find him.”

With a simple regal nod of his head, Thorin was gone again, wedding planners skittering about his feet sputtering last minute changes and shoving fabric swatches under his nose.

With a skip in his step, Kíli launched himself from the hall in search of his brother. He struggled to find room for himself in the hustle and bustle of the corridors, but with a certain amount of skill (and a great deal of strategically placed elbows to the ribs) Kíli was able to make his way to the first stop on the Great Fíli Hunt of 2942: Fíli’s rooms.

Before even opening the doors Kíli knew he wasn’t there. It was utterly silent except for the complaining of the hinges as he pushed his way inside, something completely uncharacteristic of Fíli. No matter what time of day, there was always something going on in here, whether it was the low crackle of the flaming hearth or the sharp and repetitive thunk of knives being thrown and lodging themselves in the dark panelling of the walls. After a hurried moment of scanning the room— same scattering of week old clothes on every flat surface, same dusty tomes haphazardly tucked under the same unmade bed, same blades and other such deadly objects laying about the floor and posing a serious health and safety risk, but no Fíli —Kíli let the door fall shut behind him.

Kíli stopped mid-step some way away and leant against the wall, realising that he wasn’t sure where exactly he was planning on going next. He couldn’t just wander around the Mountain and hope they bumped into each other, by the time that happened it would be time for him to be married off (Kíli shivered at the mere thought of such a travesty).

Think Kíli, he urged his brain, rapping his knuckles against the polished stone as if to jumpstart an epiphany. Imagine you’re getting married today (another shiver). You’re shit scared. Where do you go?

He repeated this question several times to himself before, without a moments hesitation, he was sprinting away past Fíli’s rooms and down several flights of stairs. 

He soon found himself in the kitchens.

Okay, probably not the most logical of decisions, he would admit, but if he were the one getting married in a few hours time to a near stranger this would be where he would hide out (although that may have had something to do with the growling of his stomach more than anything else).

Hundreds of Middle-Earth’s finest— Man and Dwarf alike —were hard at work to cater for the overwhelming reception. A constant rise of steam made it nearly impossible to see more than an arms distance in front of you, but the talented chefs seemed to have no problem finding their way about. Kíli more than once found himself almost trampled by Bombur or some other vaguely familiar dwarf as they hauled pots of stew and platters of meat from one end of the vast kitchen to the other. The longer he stayed, the less likely the kitchen seemed to be a place Fíli might go to find peace and quiet.

Despite it’s lack of Crown Prince, the trip was not without it’s benefits. During his brief stay he was asked to taste test an array of nibblies, and even helped perform some of the simpler tasks that the chefs were too busy to handle themselves, so it was not an altogether unsuccessful fieldtrip.

The time for the ceremony was drawing nearer, and Kíli was becoming very aware of his quickly draining resources. Fíli wasn’t in his rooms, he wasn’t in the kitchens, where in Durin’s name could the dunderhead be?

Frustrated and tired from stomping around the Mountain all afternoon in clothes that weighed more than him and Fíli combined, Kíli was all but ready to give up and take Fíli’s place at the altar (cue spine trembling shiver).

In one last attempt at saving himself from such a horrific fate, Kíli rushed from room to room, down corridors and hallways both renovated and mostly untouched since the days before Smaug, but no matter how hard he looked, there was no sign of his brother.

Until that is, he stumbled across the archery range.

It was dim— Fíli, the considerate thing he was, had neglected to light all but one of the dozen torches that lined the far wall —but Kíli knew in an instant that it was him.

Fee’s weapon of choice had never been the bow and arrow like Kíli’s was, but he’d been gifted with a blade since he was naught but a babe, and that proceeded to be true when it came to throwing them.

Fíli was turning the knife over in his hand, blue eyes fixed on the target and a thoughtful, almost vacant expression on his face. The knife was simple enough in design, but effective and deadly in practice, as was how Fíli liked them. It was of his own design (that Kíli could tell from any distance), and the ringing of the dagger echoed strangely in the near-darkness. Suddenly and without warning, Fíli sent it slicing through the air in one fluid motion. The cold steel glinted in the momentary silence and landed with a precise thunk in the middle of the target. More knives mere inches apart winked at Kíli in the half-light.

Fíli took up another blade off the small table at his side and examined it closely for imperfections. A completely unnecessary gesture in Kíli’s opinion; Fíli was an expert when it came to working daggers and blades, and settled for no less than perfection. He even made Kíli a pair of stealth blades small enough to fit in the inside of his boot. Due to his proficiency with a bow and arrow they were barely used, but it was comforting in a way to know that he had that back up there.

In the end it was Fíli who broke the deafening silence. “Uncle Thorin sent you.” It wasn’t a question, and he let the blade fly before Kíli could so much as take in a breath to answer.

“Yes,” Kíli said, only now noticing the tense set to Fíli’s shoulders and the terseness of his voice. Clearly Fíli was not as calm and collected as he was trying to make out to be. “Dwalin and Nori are looking too, amad as well. Everybody’s on the look out, really. You’ve quickly become Erebor’s number one person of interest.” Kíli laughed softly at his own joke and waited expectantly for Fíli’s joining chuckle, but received none.

Tension was hanging thick in the air, an almost glass like barrier separating them, and Kíli suddenly had the strange feeling that he was intruding on something he wasn’t supposed to see, like that time he hadn’t knocked before pushing into Uncle Thorin’s rooms. That mistake had been payed for with his fragile innocence, and simultaneously taught him the importance of knocking before entering.

Another two blades were lodged in the centre of the target before Fíli spoke again. “I suppose it’s time then,” He grunted, tugging the daggers from the splintering target with what Kíli thought was a bit more force than was entirely necessary.

“I suppose so, yeah.” Kíli replied, careful to keep his voice strategically level. Something about the way Fíli was holding himself had Kíli thinking that if he spoke too loudly or perhaps moved to suddenly that his brother would bound off into the dark depths of the mountains like a frightened animal, never to be seen again.

But that was ridiculous obviously. They were dwarves, not deer.

“Balin’s been waddling from chamber to chamber ordering people about with increasing aggressiveness, so I think it’s safe to say that the ceremony is due to start very soon.” In just under 20 minutes actually, but Kíli opted out from mentioning that small detail. “I only barely escaped with my life after he found me hiding in the drapery.”

If Fíli thought the information was amusing in any sense of the word (which Kíli thought it was) he showed no sign of it. He continued to stare at the daggers resting in his palm, running his calloused thumb along the edge of the blade with a tenderness reserved for lovers.

It was slightly off-putting, and more than a little weird even for Fíli.

“...Did I mention that amad is looking for you?” He added, hoping to get at least some reaction with little to no results. It was like he wasn’t even listening to him!

“Look, Fee, I know that you’re probably freaking out right now, and I understand that, I do. If I were in your position I’d be freaking out too; marrying someone you’ve never spoken more than ten words to, having to do the whole ceremony thing in front of hundreds of people, the whole… shebang (how else was he supposed to put it?) that comes with the marriage deal. I man, if I were you I would have definitely have thrown up by now…” Kíli realised too late that he wasn’t helping the situation in the slightest thanks to the greenish tinge of Fíli’s face.

Fíli continued to say nothing, but Kíli suspected that it was less to do with having nothing to say and more to do with keeping his breakfast down.

“I… that-that was not the right thing to say.” He ran a hand over face, his fringe annoyingly soft (Uncle Thorin had made him wash it for the occasion) and scolded himself internally. Great job Kee, you’ve really done it now.

Fíli still wouldn’t look him in the eye. “How many people are here?”

“All of them.” Kíli saw no point in lying to him. He was only going to find out for himself when he reached the podium. Better he was prepared than be blindsided by the sheer number of eyes pinned on him and have another freak out. The entire population of Erebor and a staggering number of Dale Men had come out to witness the union. Kíli had briefly passed Bard— father of the bride —on his way to the kitchens. He’d looked nearly as green as Fíli did right now, though considerably less distant. In fact, Bard had looked the most alert Kíli had ever seen him (which admittedly wasn’t very much), his eyes darting to and fro and his high brow furrowed. It was as if he’d been trying to memorise every face he saw, or perhaps devise an exit route in the case that a quick getaway was needed.

Kíli, who thought that he was making at least some progress, waited patiently for Fíli to speak again. As the silence between them stretched out Kíli became uncomfortably aware of their time constraints. He doubted that they would begin the ceremony without the groom present, but he would hate to be on the business end of Thorin’s wrath if they were to make a fool of him.

“You’re expected to be there soon, Fee.”

“I’m expected to be there soon.” He echoed. His voice was tired; strain in every note but with no little amount of resentment. His next words he spat as if they burned his tongue. “I’m expected to act like a Prince should, I’m expected to uphold the integrity and honour of our family. I’m expected to marry Bard’s daughter without complaint, for the good of our people and for the good of hers, like a good little Prince would. I am— no, we —are expected to give the kingdom an heir, and there is not a single thing Sigrid or I can do to change that!” Fíli’s chest rose and fell quickly and his breath came out in ragged gasps, as if the thoughts alone were suffocating him.

Kíli stood back and waited for his breathing, for his brother, to calm down. It was a long wait (and Kíli could almost taste the precious minutes passing them by) but Fíli did calm, and somehow that was worse. At least when Fíli was yelling at him, he was doing something. Now he was back to blank stares and hollow words; back to square one.

“Sigrid is…” Fíli’s eyebrows furrowed together as he searched for the words that could convey what he felt. Kíli watched on, patient but forever conscious that they had ten minutes until the ceremony began. “Sigrid is a beautiful girl, but that is what she is: a girl. She’s nothing more than a child doing what her father wishes and what her people need. She has as little say in this arrangement as I do, Kee.” He laughed bitterly and looked Kíli in the eye, a sharpness in them that made him jump. “She’s doing what is expected of her, little brother; what will be expected of you one day.” And then, as if the words physically pained him to say: “She’s doing the right thing.”

The daggers were forgotten in Fíli’s hand, and Kíli watched anxiously as his grip tightened, the skin threatening to tear. But whatever just happened— whatever that little outburst was —it seemed to have helped. He looked calmer, more himself, less of a man facing the gallows and more the young dwarf he was. A stranger passing by wouldn’t have even guessed he was about to be married.

“How well do you know her? Sigrid, I mean.” The tone of his voice peaked Kíli’s interest, and he took it as his cue to step further into the room. If this was only a brief intermission from the freak-out, Kíli was going to use it to his advantage as much as he could. Kíli would rather keep the both of them off of Thorin’s bad side.

“Not much. Just that she’s Bard’s daughter, she helped us when no one else would…” Kíli knew he was taking a risk at triggering another panic attack, but he swallowed his apprehension and added casually: “…and that she’s undeniably brave.”

Fíli was still. Kíli waited for the yelling to start again. “What makes you say that?” He asked quietly, genuine curiosity feasible in his tone.

Kíli shrugged and told the truth. “I saw her put herself between her siblings and an orc twice her size. That takes a certain amount of courage if you ask me.”

The silence stretched on as Fíli mulled over his words, and just when Kíli was ready to grab him by the scruff of the neck and drag him to the celebration chamber, he did the strangest thing.

He smiled.

The simple gesture loosened a coil of muscles that Kíli hadn’t noticed had coiled, and he let out a relieved sigh.

Then Fíli grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him along out the door, the daggers dropping from his fingers and clattering to the ground like metallic rain.  
“Com’on little brother.” Fíli urged. His voice was back to its characteristic jauntiness but still held a tinge of fear. “Mustn’t keep Uncle waiting.”

—

When the time for the ceremony came, Fíli was standing alone at the altar. All it took was a few well placed questions to the right people for Kíli to find out that Sigrid had pulled a similar stunt as his idiot older brother, and was nowhere to be found.

Thorin was in one of his moods again and refused to do more than grunt at anyone who wasn’t Bilbo, and even then the answers to Bilbo’s many probing questions only received a few grumbled attempts at speech.

Fíli’s own brief disappearance had set their usually stoic Uncle on edge enough as it was, but Sigrid’s, in his mind, was an insult of the highest degree, not only to him, but to his patience.  
Bard looked no better, his skin an odd combination of mortified red and horrified green. He’d been the last one to see Sigrid before she’d run of, and if the withering glares he was receiving from across the chamber were anything to go by, Kíli would guess that Thorin thought Bard was in on it.

Kíli wasn’t too worried. Him and Fíli had run into Sigrid’s little sister on their way back from the range and if there was one thing Kíli knew well, it was the bond between siblings. She’d find her, no doubt about it.

The only one less worried than Kíli was, amazingly, Fíli. He’d taken the news that his bride-to-be had run off on him surprisingly well and had even offered to lend a hand in looking for her. Kíli had quickly nipped that thought in the bud (too easy for him to run off himself) and steered him toward the altar, where he’d given Fíli a very stern order to “stay here” before traipsing off to their Uncle’s side, where he was expected to stay for the remainder of the evening.

Just that morning Bombur had shown him some unique and effective ways of smuggling muffins in the inside of your clothes that even the keen eyes of his mother (who had arrived that same morning) wouldn’t spot, so Kíli was set and ready to go for most likely the most tedious and mind-numbing few hours of his young life.

Then Sigrid showed up.

Heavy oak doors swung open with a thunderous boom that hushed every voice in the room as Sigrid made her entrance. Her skin was pale and her eyes were red, but she held her head high in defiance. Layers and layers of white silk swirled around her ankles, sparkling faintly and turning the young woman into a silver and white storm. She was very clearly angry, and what looked like an argument died on her lips as she took in the hundreds of eyes pinned on her expectantly. A small girl similar in every way but height trailed not far behind, and came to stop at her side as Sigrid’s ears flamed a hot red, and the hot flush of anger was replaced by an equal serving of horror and embarrassment.

 _Clever girl_. Kíli couldn’t help but smirk appreciatively at the younger girl and the faux innocence she wore at the pointed look Sigrid gave her. She must have herded her older sister in the direction of the Celebration Chamber without her even knowing. _Clever girl, indeed._

There were a few moments of heavy silence that no one, not even Thorin, dared to break. Sigrid stood frozen at the centre of everyone’s gaze, as if her feet had sprouted roots and burrowed so far into the stone she could no longer move, the only sign of life the panicked darting of her green eyes. It wasn’t until Bard approached, setting a steady hand on her shoulder, did she move, if only to shuffle closer into his side. Bard whispered a hasty word into her ear to which Sigrid shook her head.

Kíli stood staring like the rest of them, feeling incredibly intruding but at the same time unable to look away. His shoulders felt stiff from lack of movement and his clothes were entirely too heavy (and itchy!) for his taste. He wanted nothing more than for the ceremony to be over and done with so they could get to the good part— the feast.

Fíli, for the most part, seemed to share his opinion. He too looked as if he wanted nothing more than for this all to be done with, or perhaps to disappear into the floor. Kíli saw that out of everyone it seemed to be only Fíli and Dwalin (standing close by as was usual) who showed no interest in the hushed but undeniably fervent discussion between Sigrid and Bard.

With a final meaningful glare, Sigrid cleared her throat. “Well,” she addressed them all. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

A quiet chorus of breathy laughter and murmured agreement rung out and Sigrid, smiling brightly, ascended the steps of the podium to join Fíli.

**Author's Note:**

> I rediscovered this old thing that's been sitting in my drive since Jan 2015 and thought, hey, why not, I've got nothing better to do at 10pm on a Friday night. I've been pretty inactive in the Tolkien fandom lately, but rereading this has sorta inspired me to get back into it! Any mistakes are my own, criticism would be great, and I'd also just be happy to hear what y'all think!
> 
> ~ Pquilly


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